


budding incarnadine

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Tony Stark Bingo 2018 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Dies, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has PTSD, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 01:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16566809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: When JARVIS alerts him to Bucky’s approaching arrival, Tony starts to panic.Shit, shit, shit.He snaps his fingers, pulling down the hologram in front of him before Bucky can see, just as Bucky steps through the door. He turns his head towards the monitor beside him, free of any incriminating information.“Tony, are you coming to bed?”“No, sorry, can’t come up right now,” Tony murmurs, absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the screen before him.He hears Bucky blow a breath out between his teeth and the slow pad of Bucky’s bare feet across the floor. He’s practically vibrating, but something in him loosens when Bucky wraps his thick arms around his waist, leaning his chin on Tony’s shoulder. Thankfully, Bucky isn’t quick enough that he actually catches what Tony had been working on, and he manages to swipe it away before Bucky could see.





	budding incarnadine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for one of the picture squares (S2) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2018.
> 
> Warning: there are certain elements that could be construed in a way that might make someone think that Tony is pressurising/manipulating Bucky into being Captain America when he's so against it, but Tony makes it very clear that Bucky should do whatever he wants to do. I assure you, Tony did not force, manipulate or pressurise Bucky into being Captain America in any way.

When JARVIS alerts him to Bucky’s approaching arrival, Tony starts to panic.

 _Shit, shit, shit_.

He snaps his fingers, pulling down the hologram in front of him before Bucky can see, just as Bucky steps through the door. He turns his head towards the monitor beside him, free of any incriminating information.

“Tony, are you coming to bed?”

“No, sorry, can’t come up right now,” Tony murmurs, absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the screen before him.

He hears Bucky blow a breath out between his teeth and the slow pad of Bucky’s bare feet across the floor. He’s practically vibrating, but something in him loosens when Bucky wraps his thick arms around his waist, leaning his chin on Tony’s shoulder. Thankfully, Bucky isn’t quick enough that he actually catches what Tony had been working on, and he manages to swipe it away before Bucky could see.

Tony knows that Bucky isn’t happy that he’s being all secretive, but he can’t know about this, not yet. Surprisingly, Bucky remains quiet, even though Tony knows it’s eating at him to find out what’s going on, what Tony could possibly be hiding from him. Instead, he hums and kisses Tony on the crown of his head, over the soft, fluffy locks, which are most likely streaked with grease by now.

Tony is grateful; he doesn’t want to fight with Bucky on this.

But nonetheless, he leans into the hold.

He loves it when Bucky puts his hands on him.

* * *

Four hours later, at three in the morning, Tony crawls into bed, beside a slumbering Bucky, with the sheets trapped somewhere around his waist, leaving his bare chest exposed to the air, the metal arm propped up on the pillow, with his hand tucked underneath his head.

Tony marvels at the sight for a brief moment; Bucky’s lying there, on his back, a far cry from how he used to sleep when he first came to Stark Tower, as Tony remembers, curled up into a small ball, his arms gathered between his thighs and abdomen, leaving his back as the most exposed part of him, like he awaited punishment.

Now, Bucky lies there, daring someone to come at him.

God, Tony loves this man.

When Tony throws an arm across Bucky’s waist, it brings him out of his drowse.

“Finally finished burning the candle at both ends, huh,” he slurs, wrapping both of his arms around Tony in turn, making sure that his metal arm doesn’t touch Tony’s bare skin so late at night, when the air around them is cold. “Did you get done whatever you were doing?”

“Not quite,” Tony whispers into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky makes a rough, throaty sound. “That’s too bad, doll.”

Tony shrugs, almost helplessly. “It’ll get done.”

_It has to get done._

Tony clears his throat. “Sorry for taking so long,” he says, lamely.

Bucky runs fingers through Tony’s hair. “S’okay, baby. Your work’s important to you. I know that,” he soothes.

Tony reaches up and kisses him on the cheek with some effort, because all his limbs feel like solid, leaden weight, after spending some twenty-one straight hours in a workshop, living up to the bidding of a dead man.

“I can make it up to you, if you don’t want to go back to sleep,” he offers, lowering his voice to that pitch that makes Bucky’s insides tremble.

Bucky laughs. “Doll, I’ll fuck you good and hard if you want me to, but don’t trade sex because you think I _put up_ with your insane work habits, okay,” he says, gently. “You don’t gotta pay me in orgasms to keep me here.”

Tony chews on his lip, ignoring the swell of emotion that Bucky’s words kindle. He smiles, slow, staring up at Bucky through his eyelashes, in an attempt to mask just how much Bucky affects him, all that nostalgic charm and sleek danger and beauty.

“I think you lost me after you said that you’ll fuck me good and hard,” he says, slyly.

Bucky laughs. “You sure you don’t want to get some sleep?”

“Come on, James,” Tony says, roughly, flexing his hand against Bucky’s warm, muscled side, knowing exactly what the use of his first name would do to Bucky.

His lips brush against the curve of a single pectoral, the smattering of dark chest hair on Bucky’s chest, and he’s gone.

Tony laughs as Bucky topples them over, so that he’s crouching over Tony like a wild cat. Tony leans up and pulls Bucky’s hair out of the man-bun he goes to sleep in, sliding his fingers through the dark strands.

Bucky happily settles between Tony’s thighs, sliding warm, giant palms under Tony’s tank to settle on his abdomen.

“So,” he begins, casually. “You come here often?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, a bright smile threatening to break forth. “To _our_ bed?” he asks, dryly.

Bucky grins. “Yeah, that didn’t really work, did it?”

“No. No, it did not.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine. I guess I’ll have to make it up you.”

“Good,” Tony says, levelly. “Because I have no idea how you got people to agree to have sex with you in the 40s, when your pick-up lines were such shit- _holy fucking hell_!”

Bucky beams down at him, shamelessly. “You were saying?” he taunts, corkscrewing his hand up Tony’s cock, his hand shoved inside Tony’s boxers without so much as a _wine and dine_.

Tony punches out a hurt little noise of abject pleasure. “You suck,” he grits out.

“I could, if you wanted?” Bucky says, suggestively.

Tony groans and lets his head fall back against the soft-down pillow. “You know I want that. Don’t tease,” he says, spitefully.

Bucky laughs a warm chocolate sound, running his hand down Tony’s flank, as he strips the smaller man of his shirt, leaving him in just a pair of silk boxers. Tony is much more impatient than he is, and Bucky is naked and between his legs long before Tony could do the same. But Bucky is no slouch, himself, and he’s rolling down Tony’s boxers within moments, and kicking them off to one side of the bed that he’s pretty sure they won’t touch, even if they roll around quite a bit.

Tony is so glad he can fit eight people in his bed, only if he’s strictly a one-man (one Winter Soldier, to be more precise) kind of guy nowadays.

Tony lets Bucky spread his thighs wide open over his biceps, something tingling low in his stomach at the ripple of muscle he can feel just under his thighs. Bucky pulls him onto his lap, pretty much, so that his legs are almost perpendicular to his torso, and not for the first time (and especially during sexy times), he’s so grateful for Extremis, because he doubts he would’ve managed such extravagant gymnastic feats in his old constitution, with the arc reactor hollowing out most of his chest cavity and extensive liver damage as the winnings of years of alcohol abuse.

Tony watches in awe as Bucky leans down and licks up the length of his cock, without much ceremony. Tony finds himself yanking at the sheets beneath him and writhing as Bucky swallows him down, right down to the base.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasps, tilting his hips forward.

There’s a slight change of pressure when Bucky grins around his cock, and his mouth turns into a tight seal, like he’s attempting to suck his brains out of Tony’s cock.

 _Try your best, babe_ , he wants to slur, fisting his hands in the sheets.

Just when he’s about to come, Bucky decides to show his true nature and pulls off his cock, which slaps wetly against Tony’s stomach, leaving streaks of pre-come and spit across his skin.

“Hey!” he protests.

“What?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You wanna come like that?”

“Well, no,” he admits, grudgingly. “But you could’ve asked!” he pouts.

“Aw, poor baby,” Bucky coos. “Want me to make it all better?” he asks, devilishly.

Tony sighs and leans back, as if he’s so reluctant to the possibility of sexy times with his hotter-than-hell partner.

“If you must.”

Bucky snorts. “Thanks for the validation, Your Majesty.”

Tony sniffs, haughtily. “You’re welcome, pleb. Now,” he sighs, dramatically. “Service me.”

Bucky laughs. He reaches over, while his warm hands still flex against Tony’s skin, fishing into the drawer beside his side of the bed, looking for the slim plastic tube that can really get things going between them.

After a moment of nothing, his face falls.

“Where’s the lube?” he asks Tony, confused.

“Oh,” Tony’s eyes widen. “I think we might have finished it last night.”

Bucky’s stare is almost frighteningly blank. “You’re joking,” he says, flatly.

Tony cracks a wide smile. “Yeah, I am,” he teases. He fishes under his pillow to find a moderate-sized tube of lube. “Lube!” he brandishes it at Bucky, cheerfully, who snatches it up with an unimpressed look.

“Not funny,” he mutters.

“It was a little funny.” Tony pinches his index finger and thumb close together. “A little.”

“I’ll show you funny,” Bucky grunts, squeezing out rivulets of viscous gel onto his metal hand, and thoroughly oiling himself up.

Tony moans, as a metal fingers, slick and warm, slides into him, right to the knuckle, while Bucky’s flesh hand wraps around the base of his cock.

He’s never been ashamed of admitting how much Bucky’s metal arm turns him on like nothing else, and with the new upgrade from the trash that HYDRA gave him, Bucky can use it during sex without fear of pinching or getting caught in something, which Tony especially is grateful for.

Tony clenches down on the finger inside, which soon becomes two, as Bucky stretches him quickly, but carefully. He settles into a slow, easy roll of his hips, until he’s fully stretched and open for Bucky, his stomach clenching agonisingly in unsatisfied heat. Tony moans as he feels the thick press of Bucky’s cock inching into him, slowly, until the crease of Tony’s thighs is pressed against the base of Bucky’s cock.

Even though Tony is dizzy with all of it, he manages to focus on Bucky, who looks so unbearably soft, as he runs the thumb on his flesh hand across the defined bone of Tony’s cheekbone.

“How’re you doin’, doll?” he rumbles.

“Really good,” he grits out, tightening up around Bucky’s cock. “Why are you going so slow?” he demands.

Bucky laughs. “My apologies, doll.”

He starts to move, threading his fingers through Tony’s and pinning them against the pillow. It’s all very slow and deliberate and sweet, a veritable likeness of making love, and Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off Tony’s.

Tony feels like a butterfly tacked to a display case, with Bucky’s sniper-like gaze pivoted on him, but doesn’t think he’s ever been closer to anyone in his life than he does to Bucky in this moment.

He winds Tony up to a shattering orgasm that crashes over him, holding him down for what seems like hours. He feels so full, so stretched, so dizzy with it, the blood hot in his face, with his ass tilted out. When that slow, easy build of pleasure and tension finally breaks, Tony gasps out Bucky’s name and his stomach turns damp and messy with thick, white streaks of come.

A few aimless, weak thrusts later and Bucky is arching as he comes as well, leaving him limp and trembling as he somewhat collapses onto Tony, who holds him close.

Tony parts his mouth eagerly when Bucky reaches for him, kissing him all rumpled and sweet as sugar, and goes willingly when Bucky turns them over so that Tony can curl into his chest.

* * *

Pain flares up hot in Tony’s bicep and he’s startled awake by brittle, hurt little noises coming from right next him.

Bucky’s flesh arm is wrapped around Tony like a vice, and pain, flushed and supple, radiates from where his arm grates right down to the bone against Bucky’s.

When he turns his head, ignoring the crick in his neck, he sees Bucky cringing against the pillow next to him, the nape of his neck and his hairline beaded with sweat.

“Steve,” Bucky moans like he’s in pain.

Tony doesn’t have enough movement to do much more than raise his arm and shake Bucky awake, gently.

This proves to be a terrible mistake, because the moment that he lays his palm on Bucky’s shoulder, he’s suddenly airborne and Bucky is pressing him down onto the bed, with his metal hand curled around Tony’s soft throat.

“Bucky-” Tony wheezes.

But Bucky’s eyes are glazed over, and he doesn’t appear to hear what Tony’s saying. Hell, Tony doesn’t even think Bucky sees _him_.

Bucky replies something in harsh, guttural Russian, and Tony’s shaky knowledge of the language translates it to something along the lines of _who are you? what do you want?_

“Bucky, it’s me, Tony,” he attempts to say, but Bucky has a tight hold on his trachea and it hurts to breathe right now.

Extremis is a heavy thud under his skin and it’s taking everything left in his cognitive capacity right now to stop his armour from enveloping him, but he doesn’t want to make the situation worse, and the appearance of the red and gold armour will definitely make things worse.

Bucky shakes his head, snarling something that sounds like _I don’t know who you are, where am I? what do you want from me?_

Finally, the blood rushes back to Tony’s arms in a vicious swoop and he’s able to raise them, wrapping them around Bucky’s back, before his fingers slide into his hair, dishevelled and damp. His short, neatly-clipped nails start raking a slow but methodical rhythm against Bucky’s scalp. Tony waits in silence, still struggling to breathe, until moments later, Bucky’s metal fingers loosen around his throat and he crumples forward with a moan, slumping onto Tony’s chest, but somehow still having the presence of mind to not completely crush his lover while doing so.

“Fuck, Tony,” he mutters and rolls right off Tony.

He jack-knifes up and tumbles off the bed, storming around to the other side, where he begins to pace, his hands fisted in his hair, his muscles knotting under the stress.

“I should… I should go somewhere else and sleep, to another room, to a guest room or something,” he mumbles.

Tony clenches his hands in the sheet, pulling himself up to a seating position. One hand rubs at his throat, which still aches something fierce, and he’s pretty sure there’ll be a vivid purple bruise blooming across the skin, come morning.

It’s just what Bucky and Tony need right now.

“Bucky,” he begins, roughly, his voice coming out like one of a chain smoker’s.

“No,” Bucky says, sharply, rounding on him, before his face utterly cracks open. “Shit, doll.” He rushes over, kneeling beside Tony’s side of the bed. His hand hovers in mid-air, like he’s too afraid to touch, like Tony’s so fucking breakable. “How are you feeling? Should I get Dr Banner, or Strange or-”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Tony rasps, palming at his throat.

Finally, he grabs at Bucky’s metal hand, despite the super soldier’s many vehement protests, and presses the plating against the soft flesh of his throat, sighing in relief as the cold seeps into his skin.

“I should go,” Bucky warns. “I’m not safe.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Where would you go that could possibly be better than right here?” he demands.

“Tony-” Bucky begins like he’s being so unfairly and unreasonably stubborn.

“Bucky,” Tony says in the exact same tone.

Bucky makes a noise of frustration and runs his flesh hand through his hair, since Tony already has an uncompromising grip on his metal one.

“I thought this was over,” he murmurs, disgusted. “I thought we were done with all of this. I guess not.”

Tony tugs on his wrist, but Bucky holds fast.

“I could’ve killed you,” he hisses.

“But you didn’t,” Tony points out. “You had a nightmare and you freaked out when I shook you awake. It’s _fine_.”

“It isn’t fine. I could’ve snapped your neck just as easily as I choked you,” Bucky says, angrily. “I’m still too dangerous to be around, Tony, even when I sleep.”

“I repulsored you into the wall after a nightmare about Thanos, or did you forget that?” Tony asks, flatly.

“That’s different,” Bucky argues through gritted teeth.

Tony raises an eyebrow.

This should be good.

“How so?” he asks, pointedly.

“Because neither of us could’ve possibly known that could happen. With me, this entire compound knows I’m a fucking head case,” Bucky says, bitterly.

Tony barely resists the urge to kick Bucky.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he snaps, his jaw tensing.

“What? A head case? It’s not like it ain’t true, doll.”

“It isn’t,” Tony insists. “Look,” he begins, tugging on Bucky’s arms until Bucky is crawling over him and can press his cheek against where Tony’s heartbeat thuds under his skin. “We both have hair triggers and PTSD. Get over it. I mean, don’t _get over_ the triggers and PTSD. I mean, get over the miserable idea that you’re the only fucked-up person around here.”

“You’re such a romantic, babe,” Bucky says, sarcastically, but nudges his nose against the soft flesh of Tony’s throat, which still aches something fierce.

Tony sighs. “I know. You’re so lucky to have me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, softly. “I am.”

Tony smooths a hand across Bucky’s bare back. He loves how this feels, with Bucky splayed out across him like a weighted blanket, just warm enough that he doesn’t feel like sweating his skin off, just heavy enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s being squeezed into a lock box, like he’s safe and cared for and nothing can touch him with Bucky’s big, deft hands holding onto him.

“You wanna tell me what your nightmare was about?” he asks, gently.

Bucky’s muscles coil up tight like there’s a gun pointed at him. He lifts his head, revealing a brave smile, yet brittle at the edges.

“You know, I don’t really remember it,” he murmurs, his voice paper-thin.

Tony knows he’s lying. He can see it in his eyes, in his teeth, in his smile, in his bones. For all of his great, nefarious cloak-and-dagger reputation as the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes is a giant puppy dog when it comes to him, and no matter how much he tries, and he _does_ try, he can’t ever seem to lie to him.

“You said _Steve_ ,” he blurts out.

Bucky’s face shutters. “I said I don’t remember.”

“Bucky-” Tony begins, worriedly.

“Tony,” Bucky interjects, rolling himself off Tony onto his side of the bed. He practically pummels his pillow into submission (frankly, Tony’s surprised the stitching and fluff stayed intact). “I’m really tired, babe. And I promised Natalia I’d spar with her in the morning, so I should probably get some sleep, and you should too. You’ve been in the workshop for too long.” He pauses, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “That’s, uh, that’s only if you’re comfortable with me sleeping here tonight. It’s completely fine if you aren’t, after what happened,” he says, quickly. “I can find a guest room or-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tony says, immediately, and knows he’s lost this battle long before it even began.

“Only if you’re sure,” Bucky concedes, quietly, kissing him swiftly on the forehead, before turning into his side of the bed, with his back to Tony.

It takes Tony a little while to stop staring at Bucky’s back, before he finally sighs and closes his eyes, praying for a nightmare-free sleep for both of them.

* * *

Tony hovers outside the entrance to their lounge, dancing on his feet, as he spies on Bucky sitting in front of the giant television mounted on the wall, peeling an orange with the same big, deft hands that had helped fuck him stupid the night before.

Great, and now he’s hard.

“Tony, doll,” Bucky calls out. “You know my senses are enhanced, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, uneasily.

“You know that means I know you’re hanging around the door, right?”

Tony slumps forward and pads into the lounge. He sinks into the couch beside Bucky, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close like it’s second nature for him.

“What’s wrong?” he rumbles.

“Nothing,” Tony says, immediately.

“Tony,” Bucky warns.

Tony sighs. “Okay, fine, I need you to come down to the workshop with me.”

Bucky frowns. “What for?”

“Just come,” Tony insists.

Bucky sighs, all long-sufferingly, but goes with Tony willingly the second that he wraps a hand around his wrist, a dopey, soft look on his face. They walk down to Tony’s workshop and when they enter, Bucky makes a beeline for the bots, talking to them like he hasn’t seen them for a year when he was only down there like a day ago, while Tony walks over to the centre table.

“You’re going to spoil them,” Tony complains. “They never do their work when you’re around; you distract them.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Bucky dismisses. “They’re good boys, aren’t you, DUM-E?”

DUM-E chirps in agreement, leaning into the way Bucky pats his strut.

“Technically, they’re not boys,” Tony points out, helplessly.

Bucky shrugs. “They can be whatever they’d like to be.”

“How enlightened of you,” Tony mutters with a fond overtone, turning his attention back to the table.

He swallows hard, palming the object lying on the table. He picks it up tentatively, holding it close to his chest, before turning around and walking over to Bucky, whose attention is thoroughly seized by the bots.

“Bucky,” he calls out.

Bucky turns around and when he spies what Tony’s holding, the smile falls abruptly from his face.

“Are you crazy?” he asks, coldly.

“He would’ve wanted you to have it; he would’ve wanted you to take it up,” Tony insists.

“It’s bullshit, Tony!” Bucky explodes. “I don’t want it. Keep that thing away from me.” He turns around to storm out of the workshop.

“He’s dead, Bucky!” Tony takes a brave step forward when Bucky plants his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, Bucky, but Steve’s dead. And the world still needs Captain America.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I can’t be him. I don’t _want_ to be him. And never show me that thing again,” he growls.

“He wanted this!”

Bucky rounds on him. “What?” he asks, slowly.

“He asked me to fix the shield, hold onto it, make it ready for you. He wanted you to be Captain America,” Tony says, haltingly.

Bucky stares at him, helplessly. “What do you mean he told you? When-when did he tell you this?”

“Before the final battle with Thanos,” Tony answers, heavily. “He told me… well, he said he’d been thinking of this for a while, that there needed to be a Captain America, but it might not always be able to be him. So, he wanted to you to take up the mantle, if he died.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Bucky demands.

“Because of how you’re acting!” Tony snaps. “You haven’t taken Steve’s death well, and you know it, Bucky. I didn’t want to say anything that’d set you back.”

“Or fuck up your plans for me, right?” Bucky says, darkly.

Tony hurtles back in shock, the words stinging. “Excuse me?”

“Why did he tell _you_ , of all people, this? If he really felt that way, why didn’t he just come to me, or Sam? Why you?”

“He knew I could do what needs to be done.” Tony tips his chin up, defiantly.

“And damn whomever gets screwed over in the process, right?” Bucky says, his mouth twisted in disgust.

Tony never thought he’d ever warrant such a look from Bucky, of all people.

Apparently, he was wrong.

The knife slices cleanly between his ribs, leaving a raging fire in its wake.

“That’s _not_ fair,” Tony chokes out, hurt.

“Did you even pause for a second?” Bucky asks, sharply. “Did you even wait until his body was cold, until we buried him, before you started making your plans?”

Tony flinches.

“I thought he was your friend, Tony. But clearly, I was wrong. You don’t have friends, do you? You have pawns that you play to your advantage. You took what Steve said to you, if he even said it to you in the first place, and decided to use it as a platform so you’d get what you wanted. Well, I don’t want to be one of your pawns, Tony, and if I take that shield from you, I will be,” he spits and storms out of the workshop.

Tony watches Bucky climb up the stairs out of his workshop at a furious pace, and wraps his arms around himself.

Now what is he supposed to do?

* * *

An hour later, Tony plucks up the courage to leave the workshop. He finds Bucky sitting in front of the television, as he had been earlier, irately clicking through all of the channels, his jaw tight, as he practically murders the television out of existence with the force of his glare alone.

“Not interested in continuing this conversation with you, Tony,” Bucky says, coldly.

“Yeah, well, too bad.” Tony storms into the lounge.

Bucky lunges to his feet, rounding on him. “You should’ve told me,” he hisses. “You should’ve fucking told me. You had no right to keep this from me.”

“I did the only thing I could in the circumstances.”

“Because you know what’s best, don’t you, Tony?” Bucky says, sarcastically. “You always know what’s best for _everyone_.”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Tony shouts. “Yeah, keeping this from you was a dick move and I should’ve told you as soon as he died, I _know_ , but you didn’t deal with it well, Bucky. You’re _still_ not dealing with it. That’s no excuse, I know that too, but I was just waiting until you were in a better place with it all, Bucky. I had no ulterior motives, I promise,” he practically begs.

Bucky looks miserable. “I don’t know if I can believe you,” he moans.

“I loved him too, Bucky.” Tony’s voice is quiet.

“Apparently not enough,” Bucky says, bitterly.

“That’s not fair,” Tony finally snaps.

“Really, isn’t it?” Bucky growls. “You’re so quick to turn me into the next Captain America. Steve hasn’t even been dead for that long.”

“It’s been months, Bucky. And Steve was the one who wanted this in the first place.”

“Since when do you listen to Steve?” Bucky asks, incredulously. “You fought with him constantly; the two of you were like cats and dogs. The two of you didn’t see eye to eye on anything, and you’re telling me _this_ , of all things, is what you agreed on?”

“You’re right.” Tony nods. “Steve and I had a hard time shaking on anything. But that doesn’t mean I loved him any less, and it doesn’t mean that I miss him any less. Asking you to Captain America is not being disrespectful to his memory, Bucky. He’s dead, I know; I don’t mean to be sharp, but that doesn’t mean that the world stops turning. And the world needs Captain America.”

He knows it’s on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to say _I don’t give a shit about the world._

He gentles his voice. “You can say no to this because you don’t want to do it anymore, because you don’t want to fight anymore, because you’ve had enough of war. After everything you’ve been through, you have every right to say _fuck you_ and go and farm goats somewhere. Hell, I’ll come with you if you still want me to, see what it’s like to live the rustic life. But if the reason why you don’t want to do this is because you think you’re disrespecting his memory or something, well, I hate to break it to you, baby, but that’s some major irony right there. Steve _wanted_ this. He wanted you to be Captain America because he thought you were the only one who could be, because he thought _you_ were the best of us. You don’t get to deny him the right to want that, and you shouldn’t belittle what he wants either, not for such a shit reason.”

Bucky remains silent, looking somewhere just an inch off his shoulder.

Tony shakes his head and sighs. “But clearly nothing I say matters, so I’ll just… leave you to it, I guess.”

With a despondent tilt to his shoulders, he strides out of the room, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

He just hopes it’s a good deliberation.

* * *

When the doors to the elevator slide open, Tony crosses over the threshold right into the centre of his penthouse. The entire lounge and adjoining kitchen and bar are completely empty, with no sign that Bucky’s here, or has been here in the recent past.

Then again, Bucky’s very good at what he does.

Tony pads through the apartment until he comes to the closed door of their bedroom. He stops right in front of it and places an open palm against the wood.

“Bucky, it’s me,” he calls out. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, roughly, from inside.

When Tony turns the lock and shuffles in, Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door, and rubbing under his eyes hastily.

Tony bites his lip when he sees the damp streaks across his cheekbone and his raw eyes.

“Bucky,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.

“I, uh, I found Steve’s sketchbook,” Bucky interjects, nodding at the thinly-bound book in his lap.

“Oh,” Tony says, lamely.

“Yeah.”

Tony takes a couple of brave steps forward until he’s sinking down on the bed beside Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

Bucky turns to him with a miserable smile. “I know you are.” He slides a hand into Tony’s hair, which he leans into. “I just… you should’ve… _fuck_ , I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”

“I know, I should’ve,” Tony murmurs, clutching at Bucky’s metal hand. "And I shouldn't have pressured you. If you don't want to take up the shield, don't take up the shield. No one, not even me, should make you do anything you don't want to do." 

“Honestly, I don’t even know how I feel about this. I don't know if I'm objecting because of Steve or because of myself. I doubt it would’ve made a difference, even if you'd told be right from the beginning,” Bucky muses. “I probably would’ve still reacted like that. I wonder what that says about me.”

“It says that your best friend died, someone you loved very much, and you’re still grieving,” Tony says, sternly. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Bucky. I’d be the same, if it were Rhodey. Hell, I still am, with Steve.”

“You loved him.”

“I did,” Tony whispers. “Just because we didn’t always agree on everything, doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?” Bucky’s voice breaks half-way.

Tony turns to him and whatever tenuous hold that Bucky has on his emotions collapses in that moment, because Tony watches, with no small amount of horror and despair, as the tears break loose.

Bucky curls forward, clutching at the sketchbook like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Bucky…” Tony says, helplessly, his lungs constricting.

He’s not good at this, the whole physical comfort thing. He doesn’t know if there’s a procedure, a numbered list that he could go through; it would make things better, easier, honestly. It takes him a moment, with his hands shaking the way they are, but he carefully wraps his arms around Bucky’s shaking body.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, again and again, without fail.

“He’s gone, Tony; he’s really gone,” Bucky moans into his arms.

“I know, I know, baby.” Tony nuzzles through Bucky’s long hair, pressing his mouth against his temple.

“He isn’t coming back, is he? Not this time, not like… not like the ice. I want him to-I want him to come back, and call me a jerk, like he always does, but he isn’t going to. Is he?”

“No,” Tony says, heavily. “He isn’t.”

He doesn’t want to remember the sight of Steve like that, in those last moments, his broken body at Thanos’ feet, holding the purple bastard off long enough for Tony to assemble the Infinity Stones in the newly-made gauntlet and split Thanos apart into atoms in the air.

Tony had taken too long, and Steve had paid the final price for that.

He thinks he’ll live with that for the rest of his life, and long after that.

Bucky makes a rough, wet sound and viciously swipes at the tears.

“I’m sorry. I said some shit to you that I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay,” Tony soothes.

“No, it isn’t. I hurt you.”

“You did,” Tony agrees. “But I understand where you were coming from. And I doubt I would’ve reacted any better if I were in your position. Don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. But, hopefully, it will be.” Bucky threads his fingers through Tony’s. He shakes his head. “I want him back, Tony,” he says, wearily.

“I know. I want him back too.”

There’s a pause.

“You don’t think I want you to come with me to farm goats?” Bucky asks, a little bemused.

“I just thought…” Tony trails off. “After everything…”

“Tony,” Bucky begins, earnestly, squeezing his hand. “There is no one else I would rather farm goats with. Got it?”

Tony curls in close to Bucky, kissing him swiftly on the top of his head, before staring at the wall, while Bucky opens up the sketchbook one more time.

* * *

“How do I look?” Bucky asks, uneasily.

Tony smiles, miserably, and adjusts the shield on Bucky’s arm.

This isn’t a win, not really, not after what they’ve lost.

Steve’s still dead, and he doubts either of them will ever completely move on from that.

“Like you’re Captain America.”


End file.
